I don't own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire, and I don't own any of the characters besides the ones I've created (if it wasn't already obvious). I am not making any money from this, nor do I have any desire to do so.

After watching Season 8, I channeled all my... complicated feelings into this idea I had, where I try to fix everything about canon that I didn't like, while trying to change as little of canon as possible, helped along by a D&D character concept I never got to use. Then quarantine happened, and I had nothing else to do, so here we are. I hope you enjoy my little Game of Thrones idea that completely spiraled out of control into whatever this is.

I swear eventually it'll be a Jon/OC pairing, it's just going to take a very, very long time to get there, for reasons that will hopefully make sense at some point.

Fair warning: this is heavily based on the TV show, and not the books. So, if you hate the show or just want something that's more accurate to the books, maybe give this one a miss.

PS: I edit chapters after posting—never stop. I swear it's a compulsion. Just letting you know—every single chapter has been or will be edited after posting.

If there was one thing Lady Caitriona of House Norrey hated above all else, it was a feast.

Between the endless curtsying, socializing, and Gods forbid dancing, she wanted nothing more than to hide, preferably in a place small enough that only she could access it. As a rather scrawny twelve-year-old girl, it would have been relatively easy to slip into a bolthole and remain undiscovered until the celebrations at Winterfell were over.

Unfortunately for Caitriona, her father, Lord Rendon Norrey, had expectations that she ingratiate herself to the Starks—Robb Stark, in particular. He wanted to see his daughter become the wife of the Warden of the North someday, and Robb's fifteenth nameday celebration seemed like the perfect opportunity to make that wish become a reality.

Caitriona would have risked her father's temper to hide through the entire miserable affair, but her two older brothers had promised her a large assortment of sweets if she obeyed and acted the part of the perfect little lady for the next few hours. It was the only good thing to come from the situation. Though she supposed the beautiful new dress her septa had made for the occasion was also a nice treat.

But no matter how tasty the chocolate-chip cookies or how pretty the dress, nothing could stop the sick little flip of her stomach as they neared Winterfell. She would have given nearly anything for their driver to turn the carriage around and take them back to their keep, where it was nice and familiar; where she didn't have to stress over saying the right thing or biting her tongue—at least not as much as she would have to here.

Still, when her family arrived in the courtyard of Winterfell, Caitriona couldn't help but be impressed. It had to be at least three times as big as her home, and twice as high, too. She could have stood there, just taking in the castle in front of her, all day. But there was no time, because the Warden of the North and his family were waiting in the courtyard to greet them.

"Rendon," Eddard Stark said, smiling as her father bowed. "How are you?"

"I am well, my lord," Caitriona's father replied. He finished his bow with a flourish, then moved to greet Catelyn Stark, kissing her hand. "My lady." Afterward, he stood up straight and asked, "You've met my eldest, Owen, have you not?"

Ned Stark nodded. "Aye. It's good to see you."

"Thank you, my lord," said Owen, bowing deeply. It took all of Caitriona's willpower not to roll her eyes. He was stiff and solemn—a proper Northman. To her, it just looked ridiculous, especially considering how many times she'd watched him practicing when he thought no one was looking.

"And this is my second born, Cerys." Cerys bowed as well, but unlike Owen, he subtly winked at his little sister, as if he too thought this whole situation a waste of time. It made her want to grin. At least someone tried to understand her struggles, even if deep down Cerys was more excited to meet Eddard Stark than she could ever be.

"My daughter, Caitriona." Realizing this was her queue, Caitriona curtsied, and although she hated the situation, she was still proud of herself. The curtsy was one of her best, if she did say so.

When she looked up, Caitriona noticed a boy of about fourteen or fifteen staring at her. Considering his age and resemblance to both Lord and Lady Stark—the reddish-brown hair and blue eyes of his mother, and the strong jaw of his father—she was sure it was Robb.

Looking at him made Caitriona's desire to retch even stronger. It wasn't that Robb was ugly—he was, in fact, very handsome—but whether or not Robb was attractive didn't factor much for her. Her father had brought to Winterfell solely for the purpose of being thrown at the Stark heir. He expected her to marry him, but Caitriona had about the same desire to marry as she did to eat cabbage.

She felt more like a shiny toy rather than a person, and no amount of good looks could change it.

It didn't help that she knew what her wifely duties would be once she was married, and they sounded disgusting. When she'd voiced this opinion, Owen and Cerys had laughed and assured her she would come around to the idea once she was older. But two years later and Caitriona still couldn't fathom how age would change her opinion.

Rendon's voice distracted her from her thoughts. She wished she could say it was a good thing, but hearing her father's voice always made her want to flinch.

"And my youngest, Arthur." He gestured to her only younger sibling. Arthur looked nervous as he stepped forward and bowed so deeply that he lost his balance and stumbled, causing Caitriona's stomach to sink. To any other person, a six-year-old boy stumbling wouldn't have been a cause for concern. But their father—who made at least one comment per day about his son's clumsiness—expected absolute perfection, especially today.

Predictably, Rendon looked a mixture of outraged and embarrassed, though it was imperceptible to everyone but his children. Her father had always been good at charming those who didn't know him. But Caitriona had spent twelve years surviving her father. She knew the look on his face, and she knew it would mean a beating for Arthur later.

Rendon was always looking for an excuse to punish his least favorite son.

She wished she had the ability to stop it, but there was little Caitriona could do—beyond fantasizing about sticking her father in the eye with one of her daggers and watching him bleed out on the floor. The Gods could curse her for kinslaying, but they couldn't curse her for dreaming.

Caitriona looked up at Cerys, who was now standing painfully still. He knew just as well as she did what was going through their father's mind, and like her, Cerys was not pleased. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it in a small, comforting gesture.

On her other side, Arthur had retreated back next to her. Caitriona threw her arm around his shoulder and allowed him to snuggle into her. She could feel him shaking.

"My lord," Catelyn Stark said, completely unaware of the tension. "You are very welcome."

Caitriona's father smiled his most pleasant smile, covering up his anger remarkably well. "Thank you, my lady."

"You must be hungry after such a long journey."

Rendon nodded, smiling. "Indeed, we are."

The Lady of the North smiled back, and, along with her family, ushered them into Winterfell.

The best thing about Winterfell was the food.

The stew the Starks served was easily better than anything at Norwood—better than anything she had ever tasted, to be honest. Caitriona ate as daintily as she could, although it was difficult not to inhale everything.

She didn't speak much to anyone beyond a comment to Lord and Lady Stark about how beautiful Winterfell was. But no one seemed bothered by it, for which Caitriona was incredibly grateful. As she ate, she decided that perhaps this evening would not be so bad after all.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

Not only was the main hall much too loud—so loud that she could hardly hear her thoughts—but her brothers had gone off to dance with two very pretty ladies, leaving Caitriona alone to sit miserably. She was near certain the two ladies were sisters, since they looked almost exactly alike. Then again, everybody was starting to blur into one as the night wore on and her frustration accumulated.

Caitriona's father had forced her to dance with three different lords' sons, which had severely worn on her already short temper. Her feet were starting to hurt as well—they'd been stepped on at least twice—and she'd bit down on her tongue to keep from making snarky comments more times than she could count.

No, Caitriona's patience with the whole affair was about to expire. Not that she'd had much to begin with.

It wasn't until she noticed the boy that she found something interesting to dwell on. He didn't seem much older than she—maybe a few years at most—with black curly hair and a very brooding look to him. The boy was even more handsome than Robb Stark, although Caitriona didn't care much about that particular piece of information.

The thing of interest to her was that he looked just about as bored and annoyed to be there as she felt. Caitriona hadn't thought it possible for someone to hate it as much as she did, but apparently, she'd been wrong.

She was so lost in thought over the matter that she didn't even notice her two older brothers sit down next to her.

"Don't become too enraptured with that one, Riona," Cerys said, looking at her with an amused expression.

Caitriona broke her gaze away from the boy to glare at her brother. "Don't tell me what to do." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "And I wasn't enraptured."

Cerys grinned. "You know who he is?"

She shook her head.

"Lord Stark's bastard son."

That got her attention. "Lord Stark has a bastard?"

"Oh, aye," he replied. "Everyone knows that. His name's Jon Snow—sired during the war. Lady Stark wasn't too happy when Lord Stark insisted the boy be raised at Winterfell. She despises him."

Owen, never one for gossip, especially when it concerned his liege lord, scoffed at his brother. "How do even you know all of this?"

Cerys shrugged. "Whores talk."

Caitriona gagged while Owen shook his head in disapproval. Cerys ignored them both. "You, little sister, should be paying more attention to him," he said as he pointed towards Robb.

She huffed and crossed her arms in defiance. "I don't want to pay attention to anybody. I want to be left alone."

"Father won't like that," Cerys said, snorting.

Caitriona shot him a murderous look. Under another circumstance, his delight in refusing to give their father what he wanted might have amused her. But after a long, exhausting day, she didn't want to deal with any of this—not Robb Stark and certainly not Rendon Norrey.

Owen put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. "Come on; I promise it won't be that bad."

"If Father wants me to marry Robb, he should be talking to Lord Stark. What Robb or I want doesn't matter. No one ever married because they liked each other."

Cerys barked out a laugh. "You're too young to be so cynical."

"No, but I am too old to be lied to," she said with a glare at Owen.

"Oh, Riona," he sighed, putting an arm around her. Owen always knew when it was a lost cause, trying to argue with her.

Caitriona smiled—grudgingly—and put her head on her eldest brother's shoulder. The hall seemed to slow, and she realized just how tired she was, barely stifling a yawn.

The three siblings watched as the other lords and ladies talked and laughed and danced. Luckily, their father was in a deep conversation with Lord Glover, rendering him too preoccupied to reprimand his children for not participating in the event.

After some time, she felt Cerys nudge her side, nodding in the direction of Robb. He was being egged on by the heir to the Iron Islands—Caitriona couldn't remember his first name—smiling and laughing as his friend pushed him towards her and her brothers.

Just what she needed.

"My lady," Robb said. He bowed, holding out a hand. "May I have this dance?"

It took all of her willpower not to scream at him to go away. Instead, she took a deep, steadying breath and replied, as politely as she could, "No, thank you, my lord."

Robb blanched at her for a split second, surprised at Caitriona's reaction. He recovered his composure quickly, though. She was impressed, in a bitter sort of way.

"It's not polite for a lady to refuse," he replied teasingly.

It seemed he thought they were playing some game where she pretended to be coy until eventually giving in and accepting his invitation.

The idea of that only worsened Caitriona's temper.

"Yes, well, it's not polite for a lady to step in horse shit either, but I'd honestly rather do that than dance again. Now, kindly, leave me alone," she snapped.

It was said more loudly than she had intended. So loud that the entire room stared in her direction, completely silent beyond the musicians.

Caitriona heard Owen gasp, and Cerys try to cover his laugh with a cough. Her father had turned an intense shade of purple, which under different circumstances, she might have found funny. Lord Stark snorted in disbelief and amusement, his wife giving him a half-hearted disapproving glare. Robb blushed, and Caitriona felt her cheeks heating up to match.

She glanced over to where the brooding boy was standing, only to find a slight smile on his face.

It set her blood to a boil. She had embarrassed herself in front of her liege lord and his entire family. Worse than that, her father was going to punish her like never before—if he didn't outright kill her first.

And yet Eddard Stark's bastard found it funny.

Gods, did she wish she had her daggers with her, just then.

Unfortunately, Caitriona wasn't able to stew on her fury for very long. Without a word, her father grabbed her arm so forcefully it hurt and dragged her out of the hall. She knew she was in for the whip, but if Caitriona was being honest, at this point a whipping was entirely worth it if it meant she didn't have to stay at the feast—or dance—ever again.

I think what this prologue establishes is that Caitriona desperately needs therapy. A lot of it.

Anyway, a few notes:

1. In the books, Norrey is actually a northern family that resides in the mountains just south of The Gift. They aren't a house—they're a clan. But since the tv show doesn't ever mention the Norrey Clan or really mention the difference between clans and houses in the North, I figured I'd just use the name (because I was too lazy to come up with my own) and make them an actual house with my characters. Hey, if the show can change aspects of the book lore, then so can I.

2. Caitriona is not a name used in the lore of ASOIAF or the TV show. It's a Scottish name. I had originally meant just to use it and the associated nickname(s) as placeholders, but now I'm so attached to them that when I change it to something more lore-friendly, it feels wrong. Sorry, guys. You're just going to have to live with the not-so-lore-friendly name.

3. In the same vein, Rendon isn't actually a lore-friendly name either. In the books, the patriarch of Clan Norrey is named Brandon. The problem is that there are already just so many Brandons in the lore, so I had to change it from Brandon to Rendon to keep myself from getting confused. If you've ever played a little game known as Dragon Age: Origins, you'll hopefully recognize it.